Nocturnal Creatures
by Piscaria
Summary: Draco is crafty, Harry gets mad, and Death Eaters chase poor Sirius. SLASH.
1.

Disclaimer: Is there anybody out there who thinks these characters belong to me? Anybody? Good.  
  
Nocturnal Creatures by Pisces  
  
~Friday Night~  
  
Moonlight shimmered on the dark waters of the lake, rippling gently in the soft breeze like a silver illusion, ready to be whisked away at the slightest touch. Far out in the water, an oil-black tentacle broke the surface, scattering the light, before retreating back into the icy fathoms of the lake. Safely in the castle, Draco smiled sadly, leaning his elbow on the window and resting his head on his hand. He wondered if the giant squid was also a nocturnal creature. Strange to think that the net of sleepiness thrown over Hogwarts had somehow managed to miss Draco alone.  
  
Draco stepped away from the window, and surveyed the corridor before him. Devoid of chattering students, and lit by only half the usual amount of candles, the high ceiling and arched doorways briefly reminded Draco of Malfoy Manor. But no, Father would never tolerate the comfortably worn floors and shabby tapestries of Hogwarts. On the walls, a series of portraits depicting past head boys and girls snoozed gently. Directly across from him, Percy Weasely mumbled something about a penny.  
  
Sneering, Draco turned away. He'd visit the owlery, he decided, and send a letter to his mother. One complaint about the food at Hogwarts would bring an owl laden with sweets. Thinking happily of cauldron cakes and pumpkin pastries, Draco started down the hall. However, he'd only taken a few steps before realizing that his weren't the only footsteps he heard. Somebody was moving along one of the adjacent corridors.  
  
Filch.  
  
Draco considered running, but dismissed the notion out of hand. Filch would likely hear his footsteps, and then capture was inevitable. No, Draco decided, his best bet was to unlock an empty classroom and slide inside. Hopefully, Filch wouldn't think to check inside. Reaching for his wand, Draco tapped it against the nearest door.  
  
"Alohomora!"  
  
The wand gave a loud squeak in his hand, and turned into white field mouse. Draco curled his lip in disgust, thinking of a million things he'd love to do to the Weasely twins. A soft thump sounded nearby, and Draco started. Tossing the shivering creature aside, his eyes darted wildly about the empty corridor, searching for a place to hide. The footsteps were growing louder.  
  
Draco darted into the shadow behind a large suit of armor, praying that he wouldn't be noticed. The footsteps drew unmistakably close, and Draco strained his eyes to see who was coming. Save for Draco himself, the corridor seemed empty.  
  
Shoe soles scuffed against the stone floor, right next to Draco, and a cloak swished softly through the still air. Draco bit his lip, pretending he was a statue, a coat of armor. Don't see me, he pleaded. Another footstep, two, and the invisible walker passed by, moving along down the corridor without a sign of having noticed Draco. Footsteps faded into the distance, and Draco exhaled in a burst.  
  
Draco relaxed against the wall, his muscles shivering from being held so still. Who could it have been. A ghost? But no, he wouldn't have heard a ghost, unless it were Peeves, and Peeves would have upended portraits and scattered statues as he passed. No, Draco decided, it had to be a real person using an invisibility spell. Unbidden, a memory popped into his head - Potter's head appearing outside the Shrieking Shack, while Ron Weasely sniggered beside him.  
  
Harry Potter.  
  
Draco's mouth twisted into a grin, and he stepped out of the shadows.  
  
* * *  
  
"Fancy seeing you here, Potter."  
  
Harry spun around at the sudden voice behind him, his right hand fumbling for his wand while his left drew the invisibility cloak more securely around him.  
  
Draco Malfoy leaned against the stone wall, resting a hand nonchalantly against his jutting hip. Pale eyes glittered like sharpened steel in the faint candlelight, and a malicious smile twisted his thin lips, folding his pointy face into something both cunning and childlike. Harry's own lips tightened in distaste, and he squared his shoulders, doing his best to conceal Sirius's letter far beneath the invisibility cloak.  
  
"Of course," Malfoy continued, in a silken voice, "I'm using the term 'seeing' very lightly. Although if I looked like you, I might be tempted to go invisible myself."  
  
Don't say anything, Harry cautioned himself. Turning away from Malfoy, he started down the hall, moving as quietly as he could.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
Automatically, Harry glanced over his shoulder. Malfoy had stepped away from the wall, and crossed his arms over his sender chest. He stared fixedly at a spot a good foot to the left of Harry.  
  
"Do the teachers know about your little nighttime strolls, Potter? I'm sure Professor Snape would be very interested in them."  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy!" As soon as the words escaped his mouth, Harry regretted them. Malfoy's lip curled into a triumphant sneer and steel glint appeared in his eyes.  
  
"So it is you."  
  
No more, Harry decided. Straightening the cloak, he stepped forward - onto Mrs. Norris's tail.  
  
The cat's pained yowl split the silence. Harry felt his heart stop, then start again, thundering painfully in his chest. Malfoy's already pale skin had turned milky white.  
  
The painted head boys and girls lining the corridor were blinking awake.  
  
"What is it?" mumbled a shiny-faced boy in a striped nightshirt, and a frizzy-haired girl in glasses rubbed her eyes, and looked around..  
  
"Hey!" Percy Weasely adjusted his horned-rimmed glasses, glaring out of the frame at Draco. "There's a student out!"  
  
The news ran down the hall of portraits like wildfire.  
  
"There's a student,"  
  
"A student!"  
  
"A student is out!"  
  
Their voices grew louder, and, several corridors away, Harry heard heavy footsteps start towards them. He looked at Malfoy, wondering what he should do. But Malfoy, it seemed, already had his own plan of action.  
  
In a swift motion, the pale boy scooped Mrs. Norris off the floor and lifted the visor of a nearby suit of armor. He stuffed Mrs. Norris roughly inside, ignoring the protests of both cat and armor. Then he turned, and broke into a run.  
  
Harry stayed just long enough to throw a dubious glance at the rocking suit of armor, then he, too, took off down the corridor. Invisible or not, Harry didn't want to be around when Filch discovered his precious cat.  
  
Ten years spent fleeing from Dudley and his friends had honed Harry into a quick runner, and he easily caught up to Malfoy, despite the other boy's head start. Malfoy looked sharply at him when the second set of footsteps joined his own, but he was too winded to speak. They dashed down one side corridor and then another, up a short staircase and into the long hallway near the library. Finally, Harry skidded to a halt before a large tapestry and ducked behind it. No doubt seeing the corner of the tapestry lift, Malfoy slid in behind him.  
  
The room behind the tapestry was small, too small even to be called a proper closet. A study alcove, Harry figured, or maybe nothing more than a piece of forgotten space, worked into the blueprints and abandoned for lack of a purpose. Harry had found it one afternoon spent pouring over the Marauder's Map, while searching for an entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Even if Filch knew about it, he might not think to check the tiny room.  
  
Harry tried to catch his breath, resisting the urge to peek around the tapestry. Malfoy's feet shuffled on the stone floor, and the blond boy drew inadvertently nearer, almost brushing against Harry, still invisible beneath the cloak. Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, and concentrated on breathing quietly through his nose. For the first time in his life, he felt almost claustrophobic.  
  
"Do you hear him?" Harry whispered.  
  
Malfoy, his ear pressed against the stone wall near the curtain, shot a venomous glare somewhere to the right of Harry. "I might if you'd shut up," he said.  
  
"You wouldn't even have found this place if it weren't for me, Malfoy" Harry said angrily, and Malfoy tossed his silver hair.  
  
"I don't recall asking you to join me."  
  
"Yeah, well -"  
  
A sudden crash somewhere down the corridor froze the words in Harry's throat. As one, he and Malfoy drew away from the tapestry, into the farthest, darkest corner of the room.  
  
"What was that?" Malfoy whispered.  
  
Harry shook his head, and bit his lip. They were pressed closer than ever now, and Malfoy's warm breast gusted against his throat. It smelled like mint, Harry discovered, and the thought made him angry. Malfoy's breath should smell like garlic and rotting things, as nasty as Malfoy himself was. It wasn't fair, not in the least, so Harry crossed his arms over his chest, elbowing Malfoy in the close quarters.  
  
Malfoy narrowed his eyes, but his fear dampened the look. Footsteps started down the hall towards them, and a warning tingle went up Harry's spine.  
  
Then Malfoy's hand pressed into Harry's face, upsetting his glasses.  
  
"Hey!" he squeaked, as loudly as he dared.  
  
Malfoy smiled wickedly, and slid his hand down Harry's face, down the length of his neck and against his shoulder. Harry tried to dodge out of the way, but the space was small and Malfoy persistent. Groping blindly, Malfoy found Harry's wrist in the darkness, and clamped his fingers around it. His hand disappeared, as though severed, as it slid beneath the invisibility cloak.  
  
"What are you doing?" Harry whispered, tugging at his wrist. Malfoy was stronger than he looked, though, and hung on tightly.  
  
"If I get caught, so do you, Potter. You were the one who stepped on the cat."  
  
Down the corridor, a door slammed. Filch was coming closer.  
  
Malfoy drew deeper into the shadows, tugging Harry along after him. Harry thought of pulling away, then decided against it. A scuffle would almost certainly attract Filch. They huddled together in the darkness, listening only to each other's rapid breathing, and to Filch's systematic search of the corridor.  
  
Harry drew in a breath, and then released it. If he'd felt claustrophobic before, now, he thought he might die of it. Malfoy's hand was cool against Harry's wrist, his fingers long enough to enclose it completely. He tapped the pulse in Harry's wrist, absently, and blood rushed to Harry's face. In the darkness, Malfoy's eyes were all dark pupil, thinly outlined by a circle of silver. The fear in his face crowded away the ever-present sneer.  
  
Filch's footsteps drew nearer, and paused outside their tapestry. Harry inhaled sharply, and Draco's fingers tightened around his wrist. One corner of the heavy fabric lifted, freeing a sliver of light into their tiny room. A nervous vein danced in Draco's throat. Outside, Filch's boots scraped against the floor.  
  
Harry glanced at Draco, and then at the tapestry. Making his decision, he raised the invisibility cloak. "Get under here," he whispered.  
  
Malfoy's gray eyes clouded in puzzlement before understanding broke across his face. Releasing Harry's wrist, he dived under the invisibility cloak. Stumbling a little, he caught Harry's hip for balance. Swallowing, Harry dropped the cloak around them both.  
  
He's so warm, Harry thought stupidly. Heat poured from beneath the other boy's robe, soaking into Harry's chest and side. Malfoy's hand burned where it rested on Harry's hip, even through Harry's robe and the heavier jeans beneath it. Warm pink spots suddenly flared in Malfoy's cheeks, and he jerked his hand away. They couldn't quite meet each other's eyes.  
  
The tapestry lifted and Filch stepped inside. He planted his hands on his hips, surveying the room with a gruff shake of his head. Harry held his breath, feeling Malfoy tense beside him. Muttering under his breath, Filch left, and the tapestry swung closed behind him  
  
The boys sagged together in relief. A moment passed, and Malfoy squirreled out of the invisibility cloak, shaking himself like a wet dog. He glared at Harry, but the expression lacked its usual vehemence. When Harry met his eyes squarely, Malfoy frowned, and spun away. Screwing his pale face into a look of concentration, he stepped closer to the tapestry.  
  
"I think he's gone."  
  
"Oh." Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, running his thumb over the smooth parchment Sirius had written on. "All right, then."  
  
Malfoy nodded distractedly. A flurry of emotions flickered Firebolt-fast through his gray eyes. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet Harry's. "Thank you."  
  
Harry shrugged. "You'd have turned me in if you got caught."  
  
"In a heartbeat, Potter."  
  
Sweeping his robes up imperiously, Malfoy stalked through the tapestry. Harry moved to follow - and tripped.  
  
His face thudded against the stone floor, and his glasses toppled off. The corridor spun out of focus around him, transfiguring into a muddy landscape of browns and grays, broken only by the muted autumn tones of the tapestry and by a large spot of black and silver, shaking with silent laughter. Malfoy.  
  
Harry blinked, dimly aware that the other boy was moving closer. Now he could make out other details, a pale oval of a head, topped with a patch of silver-blond hair, with shadowed spaces for eyes. Malfoy knelt beside him, and Harry's heart raced in confusion.  
  
For a second, Malfoy's thin lips pursed in concern. But then the silver eyes narrowed, and focused on the floor next to Harry. A slim wrist shot out, reaching, and paper rustled near Harry's head. Malfoy stood up, leaving Harry forgotten on the floor.  
  
Harry groped for his glasses, setting them back on his face. The world slid back into focus, and Harry froze at the sight of Draco Malfoy clutching Sirius's letter in a long-fingered hand. Cold eyes scanned the paper quickly, a confused frown pulling the corners of his mouth. Finally Malfoy looked up, excitement dancing in his eyes.  
  
"Well," he drawled, letting the word linger in the air. "It seems perfect Potter hasn't been such a good boy after all."  
  
"Give it back, Malfoy!" Harry leapt to his feet, his hands fisting at his side. Malfoy danced backwards.  
  
"Or what, Potter? I'd love to hear what the ministry would think about this. My father -"  
  
"Is who the ministry should be after."  
  
Malfoy's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps. But then again, maybe not. We could be on the same side, Potter. Imagine what a team we'd make: Draco Malfoy and the boy who writes to criminals. What would your parents think, Potter?"  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
Harry lunged forward, and caught Draco by the neck of his robe. He shoved the other boy against the stone wall. Malfoy squirmed beneath Harry's hands, but made no attempt to pull away. Gray eyes met green, and Malfoy spoke quietly into the darkness.  
  
"Unhand me, Potter, or the entire school will know about this by morning."  
  
Harry shook his head, dismayed to feel tears burning behind his eyes. "You'll tell anyway," Harry choked. "Don't try to pretend you won't."  
  
"Are we crying now, Potter? How touching."  
  
Harry slammed Malfoy back into the wall. Silver hair hit the rough stone with a thud, Malfoy groaned in pain.  
  
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't pound your face into the floor, Malfoy."  
  
"Next Thursday," Malfoy gasped.  
  
"What?"  
  
The words seemed to have restored some of Malfoy's confidence. He straightened in Harry's grip, and met Harry's gaze with angry eyes.  
  
"You heard me, Potter. If I win the Quidditch match next Thursday, Father will buy me a new racing broom. You," Draco raised his chin a notch, "Will make sure I win."  
  
"No way," Harry said.  
  
Malfoy shrugged. "Have it your way, Potter. Father knows some very important people in the department of justice."  
  
Harry grimaced. "Say I even consider doing this. How do I know you won't tell after the match?"  
  
Malfoy smirked. "You'll just have to trust me, Potter."  
  
"Nobody in their right mind would trust you, Malfoy."  
  
Something dark flickered across the cool face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the usual look of disdain. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Very well, Potter. After I catch the snitch, I'll return your letter. All right?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I want the letter back now."  
  
Malfoy laughed. "How stupid do you think I am, Potter? No, don't answer that, I'm sure I know the answer. You can get your letter back after I catch the snitch. Do we have a deal?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes, wanting to erase Malfoy's sneering face from his memory. "Deal." He released the other boy, rubbing his hands against his jeans.  
  
Malfoy smiled nastily. "I knew you'd see things my way, Potter."  
  
Malfoy turned and started down the hallway, disappearing as he rounded a corridor. Harry sank to the floor, and pulled the invisibility cloak tighter around him. For a long time, he huddled there in the darkness with angry tears burning a path down his face.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco could have danced back to the Slytherin dungeon. Instead, he scurried through the dark halls like a mouse who spotted the cheese at the end of the maze. In his hand, he the key to Potter's undoing.  
  
Oh, how the wizard world would weep when it discovered that Potter, perfect Potter, had been consorting with the lowest class of criminals. Witch Weekly would find pictures of him, hideously unflattering pictures, and print them next to those of Sirius Black. Potter's name would shrivel up and die on people's tongues. And all along, Draco would be there in the background, smiling, pleasant, the picture of wizardly youth in his neat robes and tidy hair.  
  
"I knew Potter was trouble all along," he'd say, and reporters would coo, and snap his picture.  
  
Father would be so proud.  
  
Wizarding Britain would mourn the loss of its champion, and Father . . . Father would set a trap. 


	2. Friday night, continued

Draco eased into the Slytherin common room, and tiptoed to the shadowy stairwell, leading down to the boys dormitory. He'd just set foot upon it when a voice spoke.  
  
"You've been out late, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
Draco jumped at the words, and turned to see who'd spoken. His fingers curled guiltily around the stolen letter. It took a few seconds for his eyes to focus in the wavering darkness, but then he spied his potions professor sitting in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace.  
  
Professor Snape held a cup of tea in one hand, a leather-bound book in the other. He raised an eyebrow at Draco's aghast expression, and, setting both to the side, stood up. As always, Draco inwardly marveled at Snape's effortless grace, completely unlike Draco's own calculatedly flamboyant movements.  
  
"Yes sir." Draco shifted slightly, carefully concealing Potter's letter inside the deep pockets of his sleeve. "I couldn't sleep, sir," he said, more quietly.  
  
"Indeed," Snape murmured.  
  
For the first time, Draco recognized the weariness in his favorite professor's voice. He searched the sallow face more deeply, taking in the drawn skin and the shadows encircling the beetle-black eyes.  
  
"It does seem to be a night for sleeplessness," Snape said, studying Draco with inscrutable eyes. "I spoke to Mr. Filch only moments ago. It seems he's spent half the night chasing a student through the halls. He didn't catch him, unfortunately, but it seems the unfortunate youth dropped this in his travels."  
  
Snape lifted a wand, Draco's wand, from a pocket hidden in his robes. Even in the candle-light, Draco could read, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes,' stamped into the side in gold letters.  
  
"It's a fake wand, sir," Draco said quickly. "The Weasley twins made it."  
  
"Indeed." Snape ran his fingers down the wand, then he shrugged, and replaced it in his pocket. When his gaze returned to Draco, it was heavier, filled with meaning, and Draco felt his heartbeat quicken.  
  
"It wouldn't do for you to get caught on these late, night wanderings, Draco," Snape said at last. "There would be a certain amount of . . . embarrassment for me as the head of your house. Especially since I submitted your name for Head Boy next year."  
  
"Really, sir?" Draco breathed, all thoughts of Potter momentarily washed from his mind. He'd known, of course, that he would get Snape's recommendation. But knowing was quite different from hearing the news.  
  
"Yes," Snape said, and one of his rare smiles moved along the corners of his mouth. "I've found you a gifted and devoted student, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Given time, I expect you to do great things. But," and his voice lowered a note. "One must ascertain beforehand, Mr. Malfoy, whether the deeds we intend to do are great . . . or merely noteworthy. Do you understand me?"  
  
A chill went up Draco's spine, and he clutched the letter tightly. "Yes, sir," he said.  
  
Snape nodded, and rested a hand on Draco's shoulder for a fraction of a second. "Good night, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "I trust you will stay in your dormitory the remainder of it."  
  
"Yes, sir," Draco whispered, and escaped.  
  
The boys' dormitory lay as still as he'd left it, with only Goyle's muffled snores disrupting the silence. Draco shed his robe, and folded it neatly across his trunk. He slithered into bed, and drew the curtains around him.  
  
His wand - his real wand - still lay on the bedcovers where he'd left it. Draco picked it up, stroking his fingers along the smooth familiar surface.  
  
"Lumos," he whispered.  
  
Faint light filled the space created by the bed hangings, the thick fabric casting a greenish glow to it, while at the same time, shielding the light from the other boys in the dormitory. Draco leaned back against the piled pillows, and once again reached for Potter's letter. He read it, more slowly this time than he had in the hall.  
  
Harry,  
  
Congratulations on the Quidditch captaincy! If your father were here, he'd be proud of you. I know I am.  
  
Remus reminds you not to forget about your school work. I say, the school work can wait. Buckbeak sends his love.  
  
Sirius  
  
Draco traced his thumb along the smooth writing, lingering over, "I know I am." For a moment, his hatred of Potter grew from a simmer to a raging boil.  
  
Draco knew who Sirius Black was - not a child in the wizarding world didn't know the name. The day Black escaped from prison, Father spent the morning in his office, holding long, hushed conversations with shadowy faces in the fireplace, and downing cup after cup of tea. When Draco demanded to know what was happening, Father had waved him aside, with the usual words of caution. Don't ask so much about the past, Draco. It won't do to know too much about Sirius Black. At the time, Draco thought Father's nervousness meant no more than that another Death Eater was free, another Death Eater wouldn't appreciate Father's apparent shift to the opposite side. A year later, he met Peter Pettigrew, and learned of Black's innocence. But Draco remembered Black's photograph in the Daily Prophet, and eyes that burned, even diffused by camera. Sirius Black was a madman, no matter which side he was on.  
  
And Potter loved him.  
  
Draco twirled his wand in his fingers, wondering how Potter had learned of Black's innocence, and why he himself hadn't noticed when it happened. Wondering how Potter's eyes would look when Black was locked in Azkaban again. Poor, pathetic little Potter. The dementors would probably kill Black when they joined up with Lord Voldemort.  
  
Draco smiled wickedly and bent his head over the parchment. "Duplicatum," he whispered.  
  
The wand trembled in his hand, and the letters on the parchment grew bright, as though lit from within. Black's messy handwriting flickered and glowed brighter, and for a second it seemed to lift from the page, hovering above itself like a reflection of words written on a mirror. Then a shock like a snapped rubberband traveled through the wand and into Draco's fingers, and the letters dropped back into place. The light in the paper died, save for a single word, etched across the page as though burned there.  
  
Protected.  
  
Well, fine. Draco released an annoyed gust of air, and brushed his hair back from his face. He'd have to do it the muggle way.  
  
Once again, he considered the letter, this time moving past the message, to shape of the words beneath it. Black's handwriting would be difficult to copy, but not impossible. He had six days to practice. 


End file.
